


Gramps

by MissWonnykins



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Family, Father's Day, Friendship, Gary and Sam miss Gary's parents a lot, Gary's a brat but he loves his grandpa, Gen, No shipping, Samuel loves his grandson, Tiny baby Ash and Gary were Best Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 16:19:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19254772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissWonnykins/pseuds/MissWonnykins
Summary: It starts with his grandson attempting to cook breakfast. The food, thankfully, is far from what's important.---In which Gary returns home on a particular day in June and he and his grandpa sit and watch old home movies.("He loved you so much." "Yeah.")





	Gramps

Morning came as it always did in Pallet Town. It came quietly - sometimes there were faint sounds of various birds singing, sometimes soft gusts of wind. On that day in June, the barest smattering of rain plink-plinked against the siding and the roof. Fat drops occasionally found their mark on the glass of the windows. The light coming through two such windows was tinted grey, much like the hair of the man puttering about and getting dressed.

 

Perhaps the only thing different thus far were the smells. It was typical for the Professor to start his day with fresh tea, prepared by his young assistant, along with a bit of breakfast. While the scent of tea was there, breakfast smelled...odd. Perhaps not burnt - not yet - but dangerously close. Instead of frowning like any man might have, however, Samuel Oak’s lips curved into a fond smile. He smoothed down the sides of his white coat as he slipped out of his bedroom and down the hall.

 

Tracey Sketchit was typically the one who took care of any cooking and cleaning, these days. It wasn’t something they’d discussed, nor something the professor had pressured him into. The boy was just eager to be of assistance, and he seemed happy to keep busy. It would be him that the old man usually found up at that hour, just finishing breakfast...but Tracey had gone home only the day before. A visit with family - who was Sam to deny him something like that?

 

No - instead of his assistant’s cheery face, there was another boy meandering around in the kitchen. A boy with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and who clearly had only tried to cook once or twice before in his life. Samuel could only blame himself for that one. He was content to watch the young man work for a few moments, stepping in only when it became clear that the pan containing the eggs had been forgotten. His hand reached out and gingerly moved it to a dormant burner, switching off the first.

 

“I should’ve known you were already up.”

 

Chuckling, the man spread his palms sheepishly. “I am a man with a routine, my boy.”

 

Gary Oak was very out of his element. He - like his grandfather - was a scientist first and an ‘everything else’ second. Breakfast was a complete mess and the kitchen was beginning to smell of ozone...but Sam reached out and fondly ruffled his grandson’s hair anyway. Gary only pretended to be annoyed for the first second; he couldn’t hide a grin for long. It still faded away into a pout the moment Sam pulled away. “I guess I could use some cooking practice, huh?” He asked, attempting not to sound overly mournful.

 

With a snort, the professor settled a hand on his shoulder. “Then perhaps we should start over, hm? After all, you aren’t going to see results the very first time.” He moved away, pulling off his lab coat and setting it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. The first thing to go were the eggs - the tops were tough and the bottoms were almost charred black. On his way by, he made sure to open up one of the cabinets and take out a large mixing bowl. “I think you know where the walnuts are...unless you’ve been gone long enough to forget…?” He teased.

 

“Gramps…” Gary’s ‘ugh’ still lacked the bitterness that came with being a teenager, and for that Samuel was grateful. He was still a young boy - there would be time for moodiness in another few years. “Did you want anything special…?”

 

With a hum, the old man set the pan back onto the stove’s cool burner. “Well,” He began, cheerfully, “what could be more special than getting to cook with my little  _ acorn _ ?”

 

Gary’s groan could be heard all the way in Johto.

 

And so the day began afresh. Rain came down a bit harder; it was a late spring shower, apparently - the Grass-Types would likely be happy. It was a soothing backdrop as the two Oaks worked on their breakfast. Gary took charge of measuring ingredients for what they’d decided were going to be waffles, and Sam took up a station at the stove. The batter was a bit runny when it was presented, but it was still an improvement over the black pieces of toast Samuel had fished out of the clutches of their toaster. A sprinkling of walnuts and some raspberries instantly added more to the mixture; the waffle iron hissed steam as it was closed, and the comforting scent of the batter slipped into the air.

 

“Did Tracey leave yesterday?” Gary asked, meticulously cleaning up the counter he’d been working on.

 

“Yes - he wanted to go spend time with his father.” Was the professor’s answer. The burner sprang back to life as he twisted the right knob, and he slid a pat of butter down the side. “He did mention that you might be wandering back through.”

 

His grandson huffed, a haughty noise that Samuel did his very best not to laugh at. “Well,  _ duh _ . Like I’d wanna be anywhere else today. He’s so dumb…”

 

“He is far from dumb. You really ought to go easy on him.” Samuel said, because he simply couldn’t resist prodding the issue a bit more.

 

Predictably, Gary stuck out his tongue and blew a soft raspberry at the idea. “He’s a brown-noser, is what he is.” The boy retorted.

 

“Now Gary…”

 

“Well...he is.”

 

He couldn’t hold back his snickers, then, despite Gary’s immediate leer at the sound of them. With a shake of his head, Samuel carefully cracked an egg over the warm pan. “And yet,” He began, innocently, “there was a very sweet boy in here attempting to make me breakfast! I suppose that isn’t considered...what was it?...’Brown-nosing’?”

 

“He’s not YOUR grandson.” Gary snapped, sounding slightly stung. His ‘hmph!’ was coupled with tightly crossed arms. Well...perhaps there was a bit of teenage angst creeping in already.

 

Sam couldn’t have that. Tittering, he pulled a squirming Gary to his side for a brief but tight hug. “Now now now...as if I could ever replace you. Why, that’s a ridiculous idea!” In a softer, less teasing tone, he added: “I’m glad you made it home.”

 

Though he seemed disgruntled by the contact, the boy nonetheless finally leaned into it. “Wouldn’t miss bein’ here for anything.” He promised. His grandfather could tell that he meant it; he gave the boy’s shoulders another small squeeze before releasing him.

 

The waffles were a bit browner than either would have preferred, the eggs a bit runny, but by the time they sat down with tea they were both feeling quite accomplished. Talk turned to their careers...and oh, how time flew. It seemed like just yesterday that all of Gary’s desires had been related to training and traveling. It wasn’t that Samuel had minded - on the contrary, he’d been very proud! - but after Gary’s career switch their talks had become far more interesting. 

 

“--but what about the fossil record?” Gary asked, waving around a forkful of syrupy waffle absently. “Alola’s had no actual digs in decades, Gramps! Something with such a unique environment must be a goldmine of fossilized information.”

 

The old man nodded, carefully using his knife to push more egg onto his spoon. “Well, Gary, perhaps you ought to see about going out there and visiting your uncle. I’m sure if anyone has ties to any potential fossil research, it would be him.” He pointed out, popping the spoon into his mouth.

 

The boy hummed thoughtfully, frowning as he chewed on his waffle. “It’s just--” He swallowed, rubbing his knuckles against the corner of his mouth, “--there are so many gaps in the fossil record. I’m thinking about writing a thesis on it.”

 

That was certainly encouraging news. Samuel felt his face light up. “Then you absolutely should! Root around as much as you can; I, for one, would be VERY interested in seeing what you turn up.” He sputtered, caught between sipping his tea and a chuckle. “Ah-- do you know? I had this same discussion with your father…”

 

He trailed off. The rain took over. 

 

Gary was pointedly not looking at him anymore.

 

Samuel tried to keep smiling, but it hurt. It was the day, really, that made him reminisce more about his son...and not being able to talk about him for fear of treading on Gary’s admittedly hard-to-discern feelings was...hard.

 

“And of course,” He went on, smoothly, feigning having needed another sip of tea to cover the awkward span of quiet, “your mentor and I have had it before as well. And--”

 

“What...what did he want to write about?”

 

“Ah, Professor Rowan? Well, you know he’s always had a Weedle in his ear about evolution--”

 

“No.” Gary stammered. Samuel’s voice petered out; the boy was scraping his fork lightly over a section of soggy waffle. “...What...what did dad wanna write about?”

 

He was looking in the professor’s direction, but wouldn’t meet his eyes. For a moment, Samuel searched for a response.

 

At last, with caution, he found his voice again. “Well…” He began, slowly, “...I...believe that your father was sitting just about where you are at the time. Yes...and we were discussing my progress on the Pokedex. He said he wanted to write a whole paper on Pokemon groups-- you know, of course, that occasionally hoards of a species can be encountered at a time, but not all the time. Some Pokemon have tight-knit family units, but others do not. Others still have large communal societies with hundreds - even thousands - of members. Your dad was always fascinated with that, and felt that understanding them would help a trainer bond with and provide a proper environment for a new team member. That it could even help strengthen populations that have suffered great loss. He was...very passionate about families.”

 

The awkward silence fell again. Gary had jerked his chin down in a nod, but seemed unable or unwilling to comment. It was a start, Samuel supposed. On a day like that one...perhaps this was a sign.

 

“...I think…” He began, quietly, and Gary’s head came up again, “...that there are some old movies we should take a look at, today.”

 

Cleaning the dishes was done hastily - in the end, they both gave up the ghost on scrubbing the old fashioned way and merely dropped the plates and cutlery in the dishwasher. Neither of them seemed focused on it, anyway. As the rain droned on, Samuel led the way into the living room. Gary quickly flung himself over the couch and stuck out his tongue when he was told to keep his feet off the cushions. In the meantime, the professor knelt beside the entertainment center and pulled open a small glass panel. The VCR was dusty...he was afraid, at first, that it was past working. However, a hesitant press of the ‘POWER’ button whisked away his worry. The television came on right after, and he absently shot a ‘thank you, Gary’ over his shoulder. 

 

The section of video tapes sat below the shelf housing the ancient VCR. Some were old monster movies - relics of Samuel’s youth - and some were animated films from when Gary was a toddler. The ones he wanted required him to move all of these aside; toward the back, covered with an almost literal inch of dust, was a small stack of home tapes. He examined the ends before taking the whole stack out.

 

“Sheesh...those look disgusting.” Gary commented, muffled by the pillow he had clutched near his face. Samuel could only grunt in agreement - a puff of breath across one of the tapes kicked up a cloud of dirt, and he coughed while his ornery grandson cackled behind him.

 

All of the laughter died down as Samuel slid the tape into the flap of the VCR. The picture on the television jumped, the VCR whirred. The ‘play’ symbol appeared in the top right corner, and Samuel silently got up. Gary shifted, sitting up so that his grandfather could sit next to him - the picture began to move.

 

It was a wedding video.

 

It began at the reception, the picture grainy. The bride and groom were cutting the cake, grinning while the time-distorted voices of their guests chattered around the cameraman.

 

“Man, what’s up with the shoulders on mom’s dress?”

 

Sam couldn’t hold back a snort. “The 80s,” He said, cryptically, “were a very strange time, my boy.”

 

The woman in question was wearing a gown with impressively puffy shoulders. Her hair was equally voluminous: blond, big, and capped with a tulle veil that was equally as poofy. Her face was incredibly striking; even through the old footage, it was easy to pick out the green eyes that she would one day pass onto her son. As the slice of white cake fell onto her plate, the man beside her immediately tried to push it toward her face. She laughed - it sounded like a mouthful of fine china.

 

The man who was doing a poor job of putting cake on his wife’s face looked so much like Samuel. His face was chiseled and handsome, his hair was swept to one side and just as auburn as Gary’s. The groom allowed his bride to coat a good portion of his face with frosting -  _ his _ laugh was deep and rumbled like thunder.

 

Warm weight settled against Samuel’s arm. “I don’t think I’ve seen this.” Gary mumbled.

 

“You haven’t.” Sam replied, quietly. He shifted, wrapping his arm around the boy’s shoulders; his hand settled in Gary’s hair.

 

The video cut. It was later in the reception, and the bride and groom were dancing among their guests. Her head was laying against his chest, and he was leading her in a slow sway.

 

“Issat you?” Gary abruptly asked.

 

He was looking to a corner of the video, where Samuel could see himself dancing with an older woman. “Oh yes! I’d forgotten about that tie...how in the world did Karen let me walk out like that?” He laughed, “Yes...and that’s your grandmother, of course. She was cross with me at the time.”

 

Yes she was...and her fierce scowl was enough to show as much. There was an amused giggle from beside him. Gary’s grandmother at last shook her head and the camera picked up her saying: “You are a basket-case, Sam…”

 

“I’m YOUR basket-case!” The younger Sam was saying, grinning wryly, “Does that make you my basket weaver?”

 

“Sam! Honestly, you can’t even stop for our son’s wedding day? That poor girl is going to divorce him once she finds out how awful your jokes are…”

 

Again, Gary laughed, and it coincided with the recording-Sam’s own laugh. “Wow, Gramps, even Grams was sick of your puns.”

 

“Oh, she enjoyed them enough.” He said, attempting to keep the wistfulness out of his voice.

 

The clips of the wedding ended there. The next was of Gary’s father at the lab in Pallet Town. Many of the machines were far newer-looking in the video, and some were completely absent in the present. The man was discussing something with a man that had once been Samuel’s assistant. On his hip, a Squirtle watched on with big and curious eyes.

 

“Practicing for when you’ve got to work and carry children, Isaac?” Came the professor’s voice from behind the camera; both men turned toward the screen, and Gary’s father grinned.

 

“Better now than later, right?”

 

“Is that one of the starters?” Murmured Gary.

 

“Mm. This was the year before you were born.”

 

The next clip had Isaac standing at a podium; the recording had come in late, and so it started with him mid-sentence. He was discussing the fundamentals of family units for Pokemon and why it would be beneficial to reintroduce Nidoking and Nidoqueen to the areas around Pallet Town and Viridian City.

 

Gary made a startled sound once he registered it all. “Wait-- Dad’s the reason that we’ve got so many Nidoran running around here?”

 

“He is. Nidoran were run out of the area one-hundred years ago, when Viridian City was being settled. Around the time that your father was presenting his thesis, he had discovered that the grass lands around our town would be benefitted by reintroducing populations of the Nidoran family. He theorized that it would bring back other Pokemon...and the state of them today is a result of this reintroduction.”

 

“That’s...really cool.”

 

“I thought so, too.” The old man whispered, resting his cheek on the top of Gary’s head.

 

The next clip was in a hospital. Samuel grinned. “Ah...this is one of my favorites. Can you guess why?”

 

“Ughhhhh…”

 

Gary’s mother was the one laying in the hospital bed, giggling with barely repressed glee. Beside her, Isaac was quietly speaking. “So...dad’s somehow snuck the camera in here. Risking life and limb against those nurses, aren’t ya, pops?”

 

There was a squeaky noise, and the camera zoomed in on the woman’s arms. There, bundled up in a blanket, was a very small and very new baby.

 

“I was tiny.” Gary admitted.

 

“You were a normal sized baby, I assure you.” His grandfather reassured him.

 

“...I also look like a tomato.”

 

“That is, I’m afraid, true of all newborns.”

 

As they watched, Isaac took the baby from his wife and held it close to his face. They infant Gary seemed unhappy about this: he squirmed, his face screwed up. Then the man shushed him, brushing his lips against the infant’s head as he continued to calm him. “Oh, you’re so tired, I know…” Isaac simpered, “Your mama sympathizes, buddy.”

 

“He really is beautiful, Barbera.” Came the professor’s voice behind the camera. Gary’s mother smiled back at him tiredly.

 

The camera swung back onto Isaac. By then, the man had apparently drifted into his own little world with his son. Baby Gary had finally gone quiet and was tucked up under the man’s scruffy chin. Isaac looked tired (not as tired as Barbera, obviously, but close), but euphoric. No one said anything. 

 

Samuel, in the present, spoke as Isaac’s lips touched the top of his son’s head. “He loved you so much.”

 

Gary’s only response was a stiff ‘Yeah’.

 

This clip went on for a few minutes longer than the others. The birth of the professor’s first grandchild was apparently very important. Eventually, the camera was placed down entirely so that Samuel could sit in a chair - his son carefully placed his own newborn son in the old man’s arms. In the present, the professor remembered the exact emotions he’d been feeling that day. It had reminded him, at the time, of holding Isaac as a baby. 

 

“What’s his name, then?” A younger Sam asked his daughter-in-law, voice trembling as he idly ran gentle fingers down the bridge of the baby’s nose.

 

“Garfield.” She told him - in the present, Gary choked. Samuel shook with silent laughter. Taking pity on his grandson, he pointed toward the screen again. “Or...We can’t decide, honestly. Your son seems dead-set on Garrison.”

 

“Barbie, come on...you really think the poor kid wants to grow up thinking we named him after some orange Meowth?”

 

“I  _ knew _ it.” Gary hissed, and Sam finally gave in to his chortling.

 

On screen, Barbera shook her head. “No, I suppose not... but ‘Garrison’ is a military term! Honestly, we might as well just pick something else…”

 

“You want to call him ‘Gary’, then?” The younger Sam questioned.

 

Both new parents nodded. “Has a nice ring to it.” Isaac joked.

 

“‘Gary’ would look perfectly fine on a birth certificate, you know. There’s no need to give him some long, proper name.” The professor pointed out.

 

Isaac and Barbera hummed, glancing at one another. At last, the thoughtful silence was broken by their newborn - Samuel hastily got to his feet and handed off the whimpering baby to Barbera. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out.” She said, distracted by the creaky cries of her son. 

 

On the couch, Gary snorted. “Garrison’s  _ way _ better than Garfield.”

 

“I agree.” His grandfather admitted. “Though neither your father and I outright wanted to tell her that. She decided to leave it up to your father...but she insisted on your middle name being her choice. It was an amicable end, all things considered.”

 

“‘Jack’ isn’t so bad.” 

 

“It really isn’t. Better than ‘Ford’...I really don’t know what your father was thinking…”

 

As the clip began to wind down, Gary shifted restlessly. Abruptly, he asked: “Gramps...this doesn’t have anything from their…”

 

He sounded worried. It didn’t take the professor long to piece together what he was inquiring. “No.” He said in a whisper. “No, of course not.”

 

“Yeah...good. I’m not ready for that.”

 

No. Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to relive their funeral yet, either. “It’s all right if you aren’t.” 

 

“It’s not that I don’t wanna-- I mean, if it exists, maybe someday? But…”

 

He silenced the boy’s babbling. “Gary, I understand. It’s alright. Really.” His eyes refocused back on the television as the recording cut away, “It isn’t a memory I like revisiting much, either.”

 

His grandson’s arms encircled his waist; he squeezed the boy’s shoulders just a little. 

 

The river near Pallet Town was where many residents went to cool off after long summer days. It was featured in the next clip, an Oak family outing of sorts on the bank. In the background, several other families lounged about and kept an eye on young children that were playing in the water. Gary wasn’t even old enough to do more than crawl, and thus he was milling about on a blanket that someone had spread over the grass. His mother was making faces at him in between speaking with another woman--

 

“Mrs. Ketchum!” Gary barked out a laugh. “She looks huge!”

 

“Gary!” The professor scolded. “That’s rude.”

 

“I’m right, though.”

 

“I’m sure poor Delia would be heartbroken to hear that you made fun of her.” His grandson immediately silenced himself, radiating guilt. “She was pregnant, you little Caterpie - she could hardly help how she looked.”

 

Delia Ketchum was - in fact - heavily pregnant in the video tape. Snippets of her conversation with Barbera came through and revealed they were both discussing motherhood; Gary’s mother was offering her tips and examples of her own experiences. Isaac came up from the river bed, carefully trying not to drip all over his son as he settled onto the blanket next to his wife.

 

“I was wondering where Ash was,” Blurted Gary, “I feel sorta dumb for not realizing.”

 

As they watched, Isaac lifted Gary from the blanket and held the baby over his head. The two women didn’t pay him much mind, only glancing his way once or twice when he began blowing soft raspberries against the baby’s bare belly. Baby Gary’s laugh sounded as if he’d never done it before, and his expression looked so shocked each time it happened. Behind the camera, Samuel Oak was laughing, too.

 

Much of the rest of the tape was spent in silence. The two sat in silence, the rain thrumming on the roof, and watched another period of time. There were a couple holidays - a Christmas that took place right in the same living room they were watching the videos in; an Easter out in the rolling hills of Pallet Town, where Barbera carried a confused Gary around while he sported a pair of fluffy Eevee ears; New Years fireworks that made the baby cry; Gary’s first and second birthdays, where his hair was getting ever thicker and his face was just as messy at the end of each one. Most of it, however, were just random. Clips from the lab, where Sam and Isaac were working together. Moments where Sam was playing with his tiny grandson. One clip in particular made the present-day professor’s eyes well up with tears - a near silent clip of himself recording Isaac sound asleep on the same couch they currently sat upon, Gary sleeping soundly on his chest. 

 

It was a shock when the tape finally came to an end. Both Oaks snapped out of their stupors, shifting and stretching. 

 

“Y’know.” Gary said, sounding fatigued in a way that was less physical and more emotional, “I think I was starting to forget what they sounded like, up until now.”

 

Ignoring the sharp pain in his chest at the words, Sam nodded. “I imagine you were. It’s been quite a long time...for both of us.”

 

The boy sat up, his warm weight disappearing from Samuel’s side. When the old man looked over, he found Gary rubbing at one of his eyes. Whether it was from being tired or something else was unknown. “Dad was really cool.” He said, at last. “I didn’t know he had so much to do with research...but I guess I didn’t really know he was a researcher, either. I...don’t think I knew much about him at all. I never asked.”

 

“I probably should’ve told you bits and pieces.” Admitted his grandfather. The old man leaned forward, setting his forearms on his knees. “I suppose I was afraid to. I do hope you aren’t angry with me about that.”

 

Gary shook his head, frowning in concern. “What? Why would I be mad at you?”

 

“For withholding things about your parents.”

 

“You didn’t do it on purpose.” The boy pointed out, “You said earlier that it was hard for both of us...I get it, Gramps. He was my dad, but he was your son. ‘Course you didn’t wanna talk about it. I’m not mad at you for that.”

 

A faint smile crossed the professor’s face. He gave a soft, barely audible huff of a laugh. “...You’re a good boy. I do wonder where you got that from.”

 

Gary smirked back. When his grandfather made to stand, however, he lightly pushed the old man back. “Hold on, I wanna pick the next one.”

 

“Hm? Ah...all right, then. I don’t believe the labels will make much sense.” Sam cautioned. He settled back against the couch cushions, idly watching as Gary crossed the floor and knelt down before the tapes. The boy took his time going over each one before emitting a soft noise of triumph. The tapes were switched out, and he came hurrying back to the couch. “So, which one did you pick?”

 

Gary said nothing. The tape started to play.

 

“Grampy!” Was the first sound to play from the speakers. Gary Oak was only four years old, his hair wild and untameable. He was covered in mud up to his elbows. Beside him, a boy with equally messy dark hair stood grinning just as proudly. Each of them was holding a fishing line, and on the end dangled the tiniest of minnows. “I got one!”

 

“That you did!” The Sam behind the camera exclaimed, happily, choking on guffaws. “That you most certainly did! Good job, boys.”

 

“I’ma show my mommy!” Said the second boy, before he ran off full tilt. “MOMMY!”

 

From off screen came a screech. “ASH KETCHUM, YOU’RE FILTHY!”

 

The young Gary squealed with laughter as his friend’s happy shrieks turned into squawks of indignation. It was quickly silenced by the professor saying: “As are you, little acorn. I believe you need a round or two with the garden hose before we even THINK about a bath.”

 

“Nooooo!” Wailed the small Gary, looking miserable. “I dun wanna!”

 

“Hm. Well, let’s compromise: if you agree to come wash off now, I’ll let you invite Ash over for lunch. How does that sound?”

 

It worked - Gary’s face brightened immediately and he shouted at the top of his lungs. “ASH, GRAMPY SAYS YOU CAN STAY FOR LUUUUNNNCH!”

 

“LUNCH!” Ash screamed back, sounding downright ecstatic. 

 

“LUNCH!” Parroted Gary. In a softer tone of voice, he asked: “Can we cook our fish, Grampy?”

 

“Ah-- we best not. Those are hardly big enough to be lunch. Besides, something so small is probably a baby, don’t you think? You don’t want to eat little baby fish, do you?”

 

Four-year-old Gary looked horrified at the very idea. “Nuh-uh! I’ll put him back, Grampy, I promise.”

 

In present day, Samuel was laughing. “Goodness gracious, you both were horribly filthy...but you were so proud. I couldn’t bear to take away from your accomplishment.”

 

It was Halloween in the next clip. Ahead of the camera, headed up the walk to a lit house, were two tiny figures holding hands. One was dressed as a Charmander, and the other was a Bulbasaur. As the door opened, Sam called from behind the camera: “Please and thank you, boys!”

 

“Yes Grampy!” “Okay Professor!” 

 

Together, the young boys called up a hearty ‘Trick or Treat!’ to the woman who was holding a big bowl of candy. They both remembered to thank her when she let them choose a piece of candy each, and then they were toddling back down to where the professor was holding the camera. Ash was the Charmander, his wild hair sticking out every which way from his orange hood, and Gary had a pair of blue felt ears attached to his own hood. They were both beaming, eager to show the old man their new candy.

 

“Oh--” Gary had noticed a red licorice whip in his bag. He pulled it out disdainfully, then shrugged and put it into Ash’s bucket. “Here. I don’t like these.”

 

“Yay! Wait, here--” One of Ash’s hands dug into his own bucket, and he retrieved a peanut butter cup that he placed into Gary’s pail. “Trade!”

 

“I love those.” The professor’s grandson agreed. The old man - both behind the camera and on the couch - chuckled. He reached out and gave his ‘Bulbasaur’ a gentle pat on the head.

 

“A very good trade, I’d say. How about we see what the Peterson’s have, hm?”

 

“I hope it’s Smarties.” Gary whispered to his friend, and Ash eagerly nodded. The two grasped hands again and ran off further down the road.

 

“Not too far, boys, and be careful!”

 

“Yes Grampy!” “Okay, Professor!”

 

“I loved when the two of you were best friends.” The professor murmured, glancing sideways at Gary. “You did everything together.”

 

Gary certainly looked annoyed at the mention, but shrugged. “We’re working on it…” He muttered. “He’s garbage at calling, though.”

 

“His mother shares your pain.”

 

There was a teeny squeak from the screen: further ahead, the Bulbasaur tripped. His hand slipped out of Ash’s, thankfully allowing the other boy to remain upright, but Gary fell flat on his face and upended his whole pail of candy. The boy immediately began to cry, likely more out of the surprise of the fall rather than being hurt. The camera lowered at once, swinging wildly until the professor came to a stop beside where Gary was laying in the dirt. Setting the camera aside and finally allowing the pair on the couch to see the cameraman, Sam picked up his grandson and began to lightly pat him down.

 

“Oh dear...there there, now. Seems you took a tumble, hm?” He asked, keeping his voice calm and quiet. “Did you hurt yourself?”

 

In response, the sniffling boy held out one small palm. It was scuffed and red, but the skin - from what the camera could pick up - wasn’t broken. Sam tittered over it anyway, making a show of using his coat sleeve to dust off Gary’s hand. “Not bad at all.” He assured the boy, pressing a kiss to his injured palm. Ash wandered into frame again, holding Gary’s pail. “Ah, look at that: Ash’s gone ahead and put all your candy back. What do we say?”

 

With a sniffle and in a gurgling voice, Gary said: “Thank you.”

 

Ash nodded. “I put a couple more of mine in there so you’d feel better.” He explained, stepping back only when Gary had a good grip on his bucket again. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah.” But Gary still snuffled into his costume sleeve miserably. He stared up at his grandfather, pouting. “Carry me?”

 

“Of course.” The old man told him, plucking his grandson from the ground. “Oof…! You’re heavy - perhaps you really ARE a Bulbasaur…”

 

Gary’s laughter was still sounding a bit damp, but it was still far better than him crying. “Nuh-uh! I’m a KID, Grampy!”

 

The old man picked up his camera, and the clip ended.

 

As the next one began - one where Gary and his grandfather were sitting out a thunderstorm and playing in a blanket fort - the boy reached over again and embraced the old man.

 

“I wish Dad could’ve been here.” Gary began, quietly. On screen, the professor was making shadow figures using a flashlight. “But I’m glad I had you. You’re the best, Gramps.”

 

Realizing that Gary’d picked that particular tape on purpose - that he’d known what he was looking for - made the professor feel quite damp at the corners of his eyes. He returned the hug with both arms. “I tried my very best. Things were hard, when you came to live here, but I wouldn’t...well, I suppose I’d change ONE thing, but...I’m very glad I was able to raise you.” He hesitated, swallowed, and then asked: “May I...be honest with you, my boy?”

 

“Sure, Gramps.”

 

Even then, he took his time speaking. “I…” His breath hitched. “...I think...that having you here, and being your guardian...I think that made what happened far easier to bear. You were and have continued to be a bright light in what was..what was perhaps one of the hardest times in my life. I realize that might be putting a lot on you, but…”

 

There was a nod against his chest. “I never felt like I was alone, growin’ up. I’m glad I helped you as much as you helped me, after Mom and Dad died.”

 

There it was - the word they’d avoided like the plague for years. It had remained unspoken, taboo. Both Oaks knew, of course, what had happened to Isaac and Barbera. It wasn’t a matter of not knowing: it was a matter of trying to keep the hurt at bay. And there was a  _ lot _ of hurt, there. They had both lost two very special people on that one day, many years ago. 

 

One or two tears escaped the professor’s eyes and fell into Gary’s hair. “You’re a good boy.” He said, tone gruff, “I love you very much.”

 

Gary nodded again. On screen, his younger self was holding up a big, wonky, heart-shaped card. ‘4 grampaw’, it said in green crayon, ‘te bestest grampaw. Hapy fathers dae!’. “Happy Father's Day, Gramps.”

 

On a particular day - a Sunday - in June, the rain began to clear up. Sunlight filtered through the living room windows in the Oak household, and the television continued to play its grainy memories. 

 

They burnt the grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch and put way too much water in the tomato soup. It was still the best Father’s Day Samuel Oak had ever had.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Father's Day - this is getting posted the day after, but I had most of this written the day of. 
> 
> 'Karen' was originally the name I had picked out for Gary's mom when I was coming up with the idea of her, but eventually I decided in the past couple years that I liked 'Barbera' better (and, like Isaac indicates here, she goes by 'Barbie'). 'Karen' is now the name for Samuel's late wife in my head-canon. 'Isaac' was always the name I used for Gary's pop.
> 
> More sweet Grandpa/Grandson moments. Ah. Refreshing. 
> 
> \---
> 
> I only ever had one grandfather, growing up. He was my dad's dad, and he was my Poppop. He was easily the tallest of us all, towered over the whole family. His wife - my Mummum - is very short, so that was always a bit comical to look at. He grew all sorts of things in his little back yard garden, and when we came to visit we often had home grown lima beans and sugar-snap peas on our plates. I still remember his laugh, years and years later.
> 
> My Poppop passed away when I was fifteen - about thirteen years ago. It was a hard time for all of us. Poppop was a well-loved man, and saying good-bye was very hard. 
> 
> Happy Father's Day, Poppop. We still love and miss you.


End file.
